Mirror of Remorse
By J. CA
He was a mirror.
The way ahead of him was only a reflection.
But he wanted to see beyond the glass.
He chose to venture on another way. He chose freedom.
PRINCE
There he was, all clad in brown, treading through the brick red soil of the Barrens. He never stopped to take a break. The afternoon sun was high in the air yet he wrapped a cloak tightly about himself to hide his face. He walked like he was of the graceful Elven kin, yet he hid a great secret.
Merely seventeen years of age, he was tall, slender, and dark- skinned. Two sinister teeth stuck out from his jaw--the only evidence of his Orcish blood. His name was Ardomael, son of Thrall the Orc Warchief.
His name was Elvish, and it meant 'bright mirror'.
He ran away from home, away from his father, from his tribesmen and from the accusing offences of the elders. He could not bear those who still thought his mother was no more than a prostitute after she had contributed so much to the Orcs. True, his mother, Jadece Lightwind, was a Night Elf, radically different by blood and in culture. However, in her heart, she was part of the Horde.
Because of her love for his father, she gave up her chance to return to her people and chose to follow him. That was certainly one of the noblest choices a woman would make.
Yet what Ardomael could not understand was why.
Despite his father's efforts to shape him into the strongest Orc warrior, he felt that he was more drawn to the Night Elven side in him. He did not want to become a Warchief. Instead, he wanted to be a gardener.
Since he was a little boy, he watched as his mother grew herbs and flowers in their backyard. None of the other women in the village did so--Orc women only gardened for food. They knew very little about the beauty of nature. But his mother could perform a lot of miracles. Her garden was always colourful with blossoms. One could smell the faint but sweet scent of lavender and roses from miles away.
His father was abhorred by the idea that he would wish to become a lowly gardener--he was the heir to the line of Durotan the great warrior. How could he throw away his honour and take on jobs that morons do?
Well, to clarify that, he had nothing against his wife planting flowers in his yard. He appreciated it very much. Yet when his son wanted to do the same thing, he just could not accept it. Sons were supposed to join the army and defend their nation. They were not supposed to be crouching in some garden, ploughing soil and sowing seeds.
So, in order not to upset his father too much, Ardomael gave up his childhood dream. He then focused on something more 'constructive' --he became interested in his own inborn ability to communicate with nature. He trained himself to become in one with the dark, and though he could not shadowmeld like his mother, he was practically invisible amid the trees at night.
He wanted to become a stealthy hunter.
But again, he was met with objection from his father. Thrall just did not understand why Ardomael refused to go on the path already laid ahead of him and instead made a fool out of himself by dreaming stupid dreams. And because of Thrall's insensitivity, Ardomael began to resent him.
He made a vow to himself that he would never become like his father.
~*~
His footsteps were uneven, his vision blurry. He limped into a palm forest and sat down beneath the trees, hoping to catch some rest when he heard repetitive screaming and begging of a girl, coming from the darkness in the woods. His mind was still foggy, yet the sound annoyed him too much. He had to find out the origin and make it stop.
A band of young Night Elven men ganged up against a girl. They stripped her, tied her hands, and took turns shaming her. She cried and begged for mercy, but the crooks would not let her go. Their actions angered Ardomael. Instinctively, he drew his blade and charged towards them.
The crooks were unarmed--the hell would they arm themselves for raping a girl? Ardomael struck down one of the men, and the rest ran away, leaving the girl alone. Then, the half-Orc collapsed upon the floor, asleep.
The girl though torn and frightened, managed to loosen the rope around her wrists. She limped to her rescuer to see where he was hurt. She could not find the slightest sign of a wound, but the strong alcohol smell on him was a dead giveaway. He was, really, drunk.
She grabbed her clothes. They were very torn and did not serve much--it was better than running around naked, she supposed. There was not likely to be any help around, and she could not carry her unconscious rescuer. All she could do was to sit there and wait until he was sober.
She was aware that his cloak concealed the lower half of his face--would that affect his breathing? She pushed it down and gasped. His teeth stuck out. He was an Orc! But his skin was a shade of indigo, and his long pointy Elven ears told her otherwise.
Suddenly, she felt a rough grip around her already bruised wrist. Her rescuer sat upright and glared at her with angry eyes, "The hell do you think you're doing?"
Fine. She did not expect consolation anyways after her brutal rape.
He looked angry enough to smack her--and he had a blade too. He could kill her, and she would not even have a chance.
"I was just trying to check if you're all right," She explained herself, wincing at the strength of his grip, "You fainted, and I was worried. But now I see...you are drunk."
"I am not drunk!" He argued, glaring at her--and noticed that her garment had shifted, exposing her chest. He let go of her hand and asked her embarrassedly to put on some clothes.
She grabbed the front of her clothes and blushed, "They tore my clothes. There doesn't seem to be anything else around."
"So are you just gonna wait here until silk dresses rain from the sky?" He frowned, "Get a leaf or something." He got up from the floor, picked up his blade and attempted to leave. But his conscience retained him.
"Oh, right," He removed his cloak and threw it at her, "Wear this."
"Thank you," She picked up his cloak gratefully and wrapped it around her body. A gentleman with an attitude problem, she thought, but a gentleman none the less.
He waited until she dressed, and asked, "Where do you live?"
"I live in Ashenvale," She answered cautiously. Could he be trusted? He was drunk after all.
"I'll take you home," He started, "Now walk."
She showed him the way. He noticed that she left a trail of blood and fluid behind her as she walked, but he chose not to say a thing. The silence between them was awkward, and neither one was comfortable.
"Um, my name is Tevelai," She broke the ice by introducing herself, "What about you?"
"Ardomael," He answered coldly, wanting to silence her, "But that doesn't have anything to do with you."
She did not seem to catch his huge hint, "Oh, you have an Elvish name."
"Shut the hell up and walk," He was not going to go through the excruciating ritual of explaining himself. He always had to do that whenever he met anyone new back at home. That annoyed him very much.
On a normal day she would have slapped him and ran away. Yet he offered to take her home, not talk to her. She chose to walk the rest of the way in silence. Very well, he did more than he had to.
She pointed at a village at a distance, lit up by the soft moonlight. "That is where I live."
He stopped. She realized that he was not going in with her.
"I just...want to thank you for helping me," She said sincerely, "Do you live around? I could um..."
"Forget it," He muttered, "Just don't let them get you again." He turned and walked away in the shadows.
She stared after him--and then realized with a start that she still had his cloak on.
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com.
He was a mirror.
The way ahead of him was only a reflection.
But he wanted to see beyond the glass.
He chose to venture on another way. He chose freedom.
PRINCE
There he was, all clad in brown, treading through the brick red soil of the Barrens. He never stopped to take a break. The afternoon sun was high in the air yet he wrapped a cloak tightly about himself to hide his face. He walked like he was of the graceful Elven kin, yet he hid a great secret.
Merely seventeen years of age, he was tall, slender, and dark- skinned. Two sinister teeth stuck out from his jaw--the only evidence of his Orcish blood. His name was Ardomael, son of Thrall the Orc Warchief.
His name was Elvish, and it meant 'bright mirror'.
He ran away from home, away from his father, from his tribesmen and from the accusing offences of the elders. He could not bear those who still thought his mother was no more than a prostitute after she had contributed so much to the Orcs. True, his mother, Jadece Lightwind, was a Night Elf, radically different by blood and in culture. However, in her heart, she was part of the Horde.
Because of her love for his father, she gave up her chance to return to her people and chose to follow him. That was certainly one of the noblest choices a woman would make.
Yet what Ardomael could not understand was why.
Despite his father's efforts to shape him into the strongest Orc warrior, he felt that he was more drawn to the Night Elven side in him. He did not want to become a Warchief. Instead, he wanted to be a gardener.
Since he was a little boy, he watched as his mother grew herbs and flowers in their backyard. None of the other women in the village did so--Orc women only gardened for food. They knew very little about the beauty of nature. But his mother could perform a lot of miracles. Her garden was always colourful with blossoms. One could smell the faint but sweet scent of lavender and roses from miles away.
His father was abhorred by the idea that he would wish to become a lowly gardener--he was the heir to the line of Durotan the great warrior. How could he throw away his honour and take on jobs that morons do?
Well, to clarify that, he had nothing against his wife planting flowers in his yard. He appreciated it very much. Yet when his son wanted to do the same thing, he just could not accept it. Sons were supposed to join the army and defend their nation. They were not supposed to be crouching in some garden, ploughing soil and sowing seeds.
So, in order not to upset his father too much, Ardomael gave up his childhood dream. He then focused on something more 'constructive' --he became interested in his own inborn ability to communicate with nature. He trained himself to become in one with the dark, and though he could not shadowmeld like his mother, he was practically invisible amid the trees at night.
He wanted to become a stealthy hunter.
But again, he was met with objection from his father. Thrall just did not understand why Ardomael refused to go on the path already laid ahead of him and instead made a fool out of himself by dreaming stupid dreams. And because of Thrall's insensitivity, Ardomael began to resent him.
He made a vow to himself that he would never become like his father.
~*~
His footsteps were uneven, his vision blurry. He limped into a palm forest and sat down beneath the trees, hoping to catch some rest when he heard repetitive screaming and begging of a girl, coming from the darkness in the woods. His mind was still foggy, yet the sound annoyed him too much. He had to find out the origin and make it stop.
A band of young Night Elven men ganged up against a girl. They stripped her, tied her hands, and took turns shaming her. She cried and begged for mercy, but the crooks would not let her go. Their actions angered Ardomael. Instinctively, he drew his blade and charged towards them.
The crooks were unarmed--the hell would they arm themselves for raping a girl? Ardomael struck down one of the men, and the rest ran away, leaving the girl alone. Then, the half-Orc collapsed upon the floor, asleep.
The girl though torn and frightened, managed to loosen the rope around her wrists. She limped to her rescuer to see where he was hurt. She could not find the slightest sign of a wound, but the strong alcohol smell on him was a dead giveaway. He was, really, drunk.
She grabbed her clothes. They were very torn and did not serve much--it was better than running around naked, she supposed. There was not likely to be any help around, and she could not carry her unconscious rescuer. All she could do was to sit there and wait until he was sober.
She was aware that his cloak concealed the lower half of his face--would that affect his breathing? She pushed it down and gasped. His teeth stuck out. He was an Orc! But his skin was a shade of indigo, and his long pointy Elven ears told her otherwise.
Suddenly, she felt a rough grip around her already bruised wrist. Her rescuer sat upright and glared at her with angry eyes, "The hell do you think you're doing?"
Fine. She did not expect consolation anyways after her brutal rape.
He looked angry enough to smack her--and he had a blade too. He could kill her, and she would not even have a chance.
"I was just trying to check if you're all right," She explained herself, wincing at the strength of his grip, "You fainted, and I was worried. But now I see...you are drunk."
"I am not drunk!" He argued, glaring at her--and noticed that her garment had shifted, exposing her chest. He let go of her hand and asked her embarrassedly to put on some clothes.
She grabbed the front of her clothes and blushed, "They tore my clothes. There doesn't seem to be anything else around."
"So are you just gonna wait here until silk dresses rain from the sky?" He frowned, "Get a leaf or something." He got up from the floor, picked up his blade and attempted to leave. But his conscience retained him.
"Oh, right," He removed his cloak and threw it at her, "Wear this."
"Thank you," She picked up his cloak gratefully and wrapped it around her body. A gentleman with an attitude problem, she thought, but a gentleman none the less.
He waited until she dressed, and asked, "Where do you live?"
"I live in Ashenvale," She answered cautiously. Could he be trusted? He was drunk after all.
"I'll take you home," He started, "Now walk."
She showed him the way. He noticed that she left a trail of blood and fluid behind her as she walked, but he chose not to say a thing. The silence between them was awkward, and neither one was comfortable.
"Um, my name is Tevelai," She broke the ice by introducing herself, "What about you?"
"Ardomael," He answered coldly, wanting to silence her, "But that doesn't have anything to do with you."
She did not seem to catch his huge hint, "Oh, you have an Elvish name."
"Shut the hell up and walk," He was not going to go through the excruciating ritual of explaining himself. He always had to do that whenever he met anyone new back at home. That annoyed him very much.
On a normal day she would have slapped him and ran away. Yet he offered to take her home, not talk to her. She chose to walk the rest of the way in silence. Very well, he did more than he had to.
She pointed at a village at a distance, lit up by the soft moonlight. "That is where I live."
He stopped. She realized that he was not going in with her.
"I just...want to thank you for helping me," She said sincerely, "Do you live around? I could um..."
"Forget it," He muttered, "Just don't let them get you again." He turned and walked away in the shadows.
She stared after him--and then realized with a start that she still had his cloak on.
Questions/comments, pls email Jen H. Concept at jenconcept@yahoo.ca or ardentsq@hotmail.com.